At night, many people like to look at the stars. Especially when they are in the countryside. That’s where they can see them. In the city or when there are clouds you can’t see them. But everyone knows they are up there. They are faithful to their daily nightly round. They do not need to behold them to know that they are infinite… and that they embellish the nights with their shy flickering. There is never total darkness at night. There are stars. Epiphany speaks of one of them. It was the one pursued by those anonymous magicians in their extraordinary night adventure. It was not just any star.
– This one did not shine with its own light as they all do. It was a reflection of another, much more resplendent sun: The Sun that rises from on High. It only acted as a mirror to reflect the light. The star of the magi was detached. It did not take that light for itself. Whether or not the star was lit up in the sky we do not know exactly. What we do know is that it was lit in the hearts of those wise men. And that they knew how to see it.
– It was a silent star. Stars don’t speak because they don’t need to. Neither does the star of Epiphany. It showed the right path without pointing a finger (like the Baptist), without saying a word (like the prophets), without angels (like those who visited Mary, Joseph, or the shepherds). That star explained nothing to the Magi. It only winked at them with its invisible eyes. It hinted at the only thing they needed: direction. That was enough for them.
– The star did not dazzle. It did not dazzle like the blinding sun. Its sparkles were rather seductive. With the hypnotism of its flickering light it was able to set those wise men from the East in motion. He made them leap from their comfort zone in the East to the humble portal of Bethlehem. He did not push and shout. The softness of his flashing light was enough to set them in motion.
– It would hide and then appear. That star was unruly and lively. Expert in the game of appearing and disappearing; it knew how to camouflage itself before the powerful of this world, satisfied and arrogant. Such stars are only discovered by those who look for them. St. John Chrysostom put it in a bold but accurate phrase: They did not set out because they had seen the star, but they saw the star because they had set out.
– And, in the end, he stopped. Its immobility pointed to the goal: a Mother with a newborn Son. When the magi got there they discovered that it was not God who was wrong, but they imagined a solemn and pompous God. If God existed, it had to be “that one”, that little love, as weak as they were in the depths of their hearts. And at that very moment they realised two things: that they were happy, and that until then they had never been happy.
On this Epiphany, may the good God who “counts the number of the stars and calls each one by name” (Psalm 146) place one of them in our families. And as he brings us before the Infant Jesus, may we understand that there is only one coherent position: to adore him by falling to our knees.
Juan Carlos cmf
(PHOTO: Phil Botha)
